Rookie of the Year
by ReneeGoetz
Summary: FINALLY it's over! Are they related, or aren't they? Watch out for possible spoilers for Nicole Wallace and Mark Ford Brady. It's been a pleasure fic-ing with you all!
1. Chapter 1

**Rookie of the Year**

**Author's Note:** My first published fan fiction. It's been a while since I've written. . . well, anything really. Constructive criticism is very welcome. I personally think I have a pretty good start and would like input as to whether I should continue it. Go ahead. Be brutally honest. Well, maybe not _brutally_, per se. . . ;-)

**Disclaimer:** Ah yes, I suppose I should disclaim things here. It's only fair, since at least three or four. . . maybe even five, but possibly six or seven, of these characters aren't mine. Some of them are though. And the plot is mine. Anything that's not mine belongs to Dick Wolf. He's so cooooool. . . . (snaps out of dreamy state). Yeah, anyway, on with the story!

**Chapter 1- Busted!**

Rookie Police Officer Emily Handsen stood in front of the small mirror on the inside of her locker door, tying her hair back. She checked her watch; five minutes until roll call. She sat on the bench and tied her boots.

"Emmie, you coming to roll call today?" a female voice called out from a locker around the corner.

Handsen finished tying her right boot and started on the left.

"Nah," she called back. "Thought I'd just hide out up here for the tour. See you at eleven!"

She finished tying the left boot, took her jacket and hat out of the locker, and slammed the door.

"On second thought," she continued, popping her head around the corner, making Solomon jump slightly, "I've got rent due next week. I think I'll work today."

Jamie Solomon shook her head, smirking. "You're such a dork, you know that?"

Handsen shrugged. "Thanks, I try." She moved past Solomon, shrugging into her jacket. "I'll see you down there."

* * *

"The whole thing is just stupid; I mean we can't _make_ crimes happen, what are we supposed to do?"

Handsen leaned back against the glass wall of the bank next to her partner and sighed. "Remember what they said in the academy, Delgado. It's all a game; just play it. Oh, but what have we here?"

Delgado followed Handsen's gaze to the crosswalk, where a blond woman, nicely dressed, crossed the street, despite the steady 'Don't Walk' signal.

Handsen rubbed her hands together. "This'll be number five for the month, I believe."

The woman was looking down into her shoulder bag, digging for something and not paying attention, as a livery cab screeched to a halt and honked its horn. Startled, the woman looked up at the stopped car, merely a foot or two away.

Handsen raised her eyebrows at Delgado. "Make that five _and_ six," she said with a grin.

As the woman stepped onto the sidewalk, both cops approached her.

"Hi, how you doing?" Handsen asked, making it sound like a casual friendly inquiry.

"I'm late, actually," the woman said through a British accent. "So if you'll excuse me. . ."

"You know you just jaywalked?" Handsen continued, blocking the woman's path.

The woman laughed in disbelief. "You can't be serious!"

Handsen nodded, keeping the friendly, courteous smile plastered on her face. "I am, and then you obstructed traffic."

"The cab?"

"Do you have ID on you, ma'am?"

"Are you actually going to summons me for jaywalking?" She seemed a combination of irritated and amused.

Handsen looked around for a place out of the way of passing pedestrians. "Here, let's talk over here."

Handsen and Delgado led the British blond over to an area next to the bank where there was significantly less pedestrian traffic, putting the woman's back against the wall, the officers on either side of her.

Handsen pulled out her radio. "2-9 post 1, Central," she said into it.

"Can we just get your ID real quick?" Delgado asked.

The woman didn't attempt to hide her annoyance as she dug through her shoulder bag.

"Post 1," the radio crackled.

"I have one stopped, 300 West 1-2-5, doing a name check."

"10-4."

The woman thrust her ID toward Delgado, who took it and handed it to Handsen.

"Thank you, ma'am," Handsen said. She looked down at the ID. "Ms. . . Hitchens?"

The woman seemed to pale for a moment, but just for a moment, and then seemed to regain her composure. "Yes, that's right, Hitchens."

"Post 1, go with the name," the radio crackled.

"Thanks, this'll just take a sec," Handsen said. She went back to the radio, "Last name is Henry, Ida, Tom, Charlie, Henry, Eddie, Nora, Sam. First name, Elizabeth, common spelling. DOB is zero six, one eight, nineteen sixty five."

"10-4, standby," Central replied.

"So am I going to get a summons?"

"Yeah, well you crossed unsafely, and—"

"9 Post 1," the radio interrupted.

"Post 1," Handsen answered.

"10-8."

Handsen sighed, pulling out a pen and her memo book. "Four, go with the docket."

"2005, 1 Peter Peter, 100736."

"Read, thank you." She clipped her radio back onto her hip and put the memo book away. "Ms. Hitchens, can you turn around and put your hands behind your back, please." It wasn't a request.

"Excuse me?"

Delgado mouthed 'eight?' and Handsen nodded as she pulled her handcuffs out. Delgado reached for his OC spray with one hand, and took Hitchens' shoulder bag with the other.

"Your name came up with a warrant," Handsen explained patiently, taking Hitchens' arm and gently turning her around, snapping a cuff on one of her wrists. "We have to take you in. The warrant may not even be active, it's just procedure."

* * *

"Okay, so do you want to come get her, or I'll just take her down to court." Handsen stood behind the front desk, on the phone with Manhattan Warrants, rubbing her temple. She could feel a migraine coming on. "Okay. Oh yeah, Major Case is after her, huh? _Nice_. You got a name?" She scribbled down a name on scrap paper. "Okay, I'll give him a call and have him meet us at the courthouse. Thank you."

She hung up the phone, then picked it back up and started dialing again.

"Hello, Detective Goren please. Thank you."

"The warrant's good?"

Handsen looked up to see her sergeant. She nodded. "I'm getting the detective on the phone right—Detective Goren? Hi, this is PO Handsen from the 2-9 Precinct. I've got an ROW for you. Elizabeth Hitchens?"

* * *

Downtown at One Police Plaza, Detective Robert Goren held the phone to his ear, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. Elizabeth Hitchens. In custody. In the 29th Precinct. And, not only was she in custody, but he could tell by the way the officer was speaking to him that she was a rookie. Probably just came out of the last class, barely four months ago. It couldn't be her. There must have been some mistake.

"Did you run her prints?" he asked.

"Yeah," the officer answered. "The ID she gave me said Hitchens, but her prints came back with a handful of aliases, uh. . ." there was a shuffling of papers. Definitely a rookie. "Elizabeth Haines, Nicole Wallace, Leslie Eastman—"

"Blond, sounds British?"

"Uhh. . . Yes," she answered. "I'm about to take her down to court, unless you want to come get her." She lowered her voice. "Honestly though, I could use a couple hours off the street, if you want to meet us at court."

Goren allowed himself a grin. He remembered those days. "Okay, that's fine. Just. . . Don't let your guard down around her."

"What's she wanted for?"

"Well, the warrant's for custodial interference," Goren said. "But—Just. . . don't let your guard down."

"Got it, Detective. See you in about an hour."

Goren hung up the phone, jotting down a few notes in his binder.

"What's up?"

Goren looked across his desk to Eames. "We got her."

"Who?" And then realization dawned on her. "No."

Goren smiled a triumphant smile. "Yes."

"How?"

"Rookie in the 2-9 stopped her, and the warrant popped. Take a trip up the street?"

Eames could hardly contain her own grin. "Let's go."

They stepped onto the elevator, and as the door closed, Eames had a sudden thought. "Do you think we should pick her up some scones?"

* * *

"Docket number ending 100736, Custodial Interference in the First Degree, defendant Nicole Wallace, AKA Elizabeth Hitchens, AKA Elizabeth Haines, AKA Leslie Eastman."

"That's you," Handsen said, pulling Nicole to her feet. She led her up to the front of the courtroom to face the judge.

"Nicole Wallace, you have quite a record here, I see," the judge said.

"But that's not why I'm here today, judge," Nicole answered, forcing a fake smile onto her face.

The door at the back of the courtroom opened, and Handsen and Nicole turned to see two detectives, who Nicole knew and Handsen assumed, to be Goren and Eames. They took their seats in the front bench of the nearly empty room.

The judge cleared her throat. "Yes, the custodial interference," she said. She turned a page. "And you also jumped bail for murder?"

"There were extenuating circumstances and I had to temporarily leave town, but I came back."

"I gather from what I'm reading here that the 'extenuating circumstance' was the custodial interference you're here to answer for?"

"I took that girl to her family."

The judge nodded. "So I see. That is a matter for you to argue at trial. You did return to the city of your own accord. Officer, what prompted you to stop Ms. Wallace?"

"Jay walking, judge," Handsen answered.

The judge nodded. "I see there was weak evidence on the original charge of murder? I'll continue that bail, but I'm going to set bail for the interference at $10,000, cash or bond."

"I'm ready to post that today, judge," Nicole said.

The judge looked up. "See the court officer." She banged the gavel and stepped down, disappearing behind a door.

Handsen unlocked the handcuffs and put them back onto her belt, and Nicole stepped away to see the court officer sitting at a computer about her bail.

"_Jaywalking_?" Eames asked in disbelief.

Handsen turned to face the now standing detectives, grinning. "Right in front of me," she said. "I couldn't just let that go, right?"

"How-How long have you been out of the academy?" Goren asked.

Handsen continued grinning. "Four months."

"Four months and already got a murderer off the streets," Eames said. "Somebody should nominate you for rookie of the year."

Handsen's grin dropped and her expression turned to one of intrigue. "They have that?"

"Sorry to interrupt the congratulatory pow-wow," Nicole said, not sounding sorry at all. "Detectives! Can't really say glad to see you here—"

"Stop, Nicole," Goren said, quietly yet dangerously. "Why did you come back? You could have stayed away, and probably wouldn't have been caught at all."

"More than likely Detective, but everything happens for a reason, doesn't it?"

There was a tense moment as Goren and Nicole stared each other down, and Handsen looked between the sociopath and the two detectives, trying to get a grasp on what, exactly, the obvious history between them involved.

"Nicole, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, given your past bail jumping, we'll have someone watching you," Goren finally broke the moment.

Nicole offered one of her not-so-convincing innocent smiles. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, detective."

She turned to leave, but Handsen stopped her.

"Ms. Wallace." She approached her, digging into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out several small sheets of paper. "I'm sorry, but you don't want to forget your summonses. You don't want _another_ warrant, right?"

"Summonses?" Nicole seemed to be somewhat in disbelief. Was she really going to be summoned, after she was just arraigned and posted bail?

Handsen couldn't resist the smirk that crawled onto her face. "Yeah, your summonses. This one is for jaywalking." She handed Nicole one set of paper. "And this one is for disorderly conduct."

"Disorderly--?"

"You obstructed vehicular traffic. Have a nice day." She forced a polite smile.

Nicole pocketed the summonses and turned to leave, muttering under her breath, "Like a summons is going to stop me."

Handsen, not really sure what she'd heard, just stared after her before turning back to the detectives.

Lowering her voice, she asked, "How can the judge give her bail when she already skipped out on it before?"

"Handsen, as you do this job more and more, the things you see will _cease_ to amaze you," Eames said by way of explanation.

* * *

"So then I said, 'Hold up, don't forget your summonses,'" Handsen said, laughing, setting her beer down on the bar. "Oh, Delgado, you should have _seen_ it, it was great!"

"Man, I can't believe you got a murderer," Delgado said.

Handsen shrugged. "Yeah, well, _alleged_ murderer, I guess. I still don't understand how she got bail, and so low, too!"

"Eh, it happens," Delgado answered.

Handsen nodded, picking up her beer and taking another swig. "Okay, how about another round, on me?"

Delgado, along with half a dozen other people gathered around from their squad, let loose a round of applause.

"This is my last one though, so don't get used to it!" Handsen had to yell over the noise. "Delgado's picking them up next!" She won a glare from her partner.

She took another gulp of beer and handed the bartender her credit card. When she got it back, she stood, telling Delgado with a look that she'd be right back. She made her way downstairs to the Ladies' Room, and locked the door behind her. She suddenly wasn't feeling so good. What was wrong with her? She'd only had a couple of beers; this was completely unlike her.

She splashed some cold water onto her face, hoping it would bring her back into focus. No such luck. But she couldn't hide in the bathroom forever.

Handsen shut the water off and dried her face with some paper towels. She fixed herself as best she could before unlocking the door and heading back out into the crowded bar.

She walked down the dark and deserted basement hallway, relying heavily on the wall for support. She pulled herself up the stairs and made it to the main level. Immediately the floor seemed to tip and buck beneath her feet. She stumbled, but caught herself and leaned back against the wall, trying to get over the sudden vertigo.

"HHeeyy, aarree yyoouu aallll rriigghhtt?"

Handsen looked up into someone's eyes. She couldn't tell if she recognized him or not, and his voice was distorted.

"I'm . . . I don't. . . What's going. . ." she managed to slur out.

"Sshh, it's okay." The mysterious man wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began to guide her toward the back door. "You're going to be fine."

Everything was a distorted blur, and she couldn't understand what he was saying anymore. She barely registered that she was now outside. There were bright lights shining in her eyes, and she was being brought toward them.

A sudden loud shout from behind caused the mystery man to spin around, dropping Handsen who fell to the pavement. She held onto the ground, willing the spinning to stop. Finally, her mind couldn't take anymore, and she gave in to the overwhelming darkness.

* * *

The man jumped into the waiting car, which immediately sped down the alley in reverse, taking off once it hit the street. Delgado wasted no time running to Handsen, who had passed out on the ground.

"Emmie?" He asked frantically. "Emmie, can you hear me?" He pulled out his cell phone with one hand while he cradled her head with the other.

"This is PO Delgado, I'm assigned to the 2-9 precinct, I'm off duty, I have an officer down, I need a bus. . ."

**Uh oh, that doesn't look good. Should I go on?**


	2. Chapter 2

Rookie of the Year

Chapter 2

The next morning, Alex Eames entered the Major Case squad room, smiling at the large coffee already sitting on her desk.

"I thought I'd never wake up this morning after being here until 2am," she said to her partner, taking a sip.

"Was it worth it?" he asked, setting his pen down.

"To lock up Giambi? Hell. Yes."

Goren chuckled and picked up his pen, turning his attention back to the DD5 in front of him.

"Officer Emily Handsen was admitted to Metropolitan early this morning," Ross announced, appearing unexpectedly at the detectives' desks.

Goren and Eames looked up at him, startled.

"Isn't that your little hero rookie from yesterday?"

"What happened to her?" Eames asked.

"Apparently someone dumped some Rohypnol into her beer at a bar last night," Ross answered, dropping a thin file onto Goren's desk. "That's a copy of the 61. She was released from Metropolitan about an hour ago. Knock yourselves out."

Eames' eyebrows almost hit her hairline as Ross walked away. "Gee, do you think he's not a morning person?"

Goren opened the file and read the complaint. "Aces & Eights, Upper East Side," he said.

Eames racked her brain, digging back through to her vice days. "First and. . . 87th? Just your standard college bar, complete with beer pong and pool tables, if I'm remembering right."

"It—It's Nicole."

"Bobby—"

"She's probably pissed that she got caught by a rookie," Goren explained. "Sh—She was insulted, she feels a need to prove herself again. This cop arrests Nicole, and then later that same night she's drugged, Nicole's choice method, don't you think that's a little too much of a coincidence?"

Eames nodded, to appease him more than agree with him. "Okay. Let's go talk to the bar staff before we jump to conclusions."

Aces & Eights

1683 1st Ave, New York, New York

April 3, 2007

Goren, ever the gentleman, held the front door of the bar open for Eames to enter.

"We're not serving yet," a man called. He looked up from the bar he was cleaning and took notice of the two people before him wearing gold shields. "Oh. You're here about what happened to Emmie."

The detectives nodded and bartender went back to cleaning. "Can you tell us anything about it?" Eames asked him.

He shrugged. "Not really." He sounded regretful. "It was so crowded, I guess no one really knew what was going on," he admitted. He stopped wiping the bar top down and looked at the detectives. "Believe me, something like this happens in my bar, that's bad enough, but especially Emmie. . ."

"You know her personally?" Eames asked. Goren had floated away to inspect the wall décor.

"Emmie? Nah. But a bunch of young cops that get out of work at 11. . . She comes by with her squad once or twice a week, and when they come on Monday or Tuesday they're usually the only ones in here, so it's easy to get to know them."

"But last night was different?"

"A bunch of college kids took over last night," the bartender said. "So instead of the eight of them, there was another 40 or so people. They were here for a 21st birthday, I was filling drink orders left and right. The last I saw Emmie was when she bought a round for the squad. I saw her go downstairs, probably to the bathroom. Ten minutes later a bus pulls up with three RMP's. Half the college kids ran."

"You have security cameras in here?"

"Of course. I'll get you the tape."

The bartender slung the towel over his shoulder and headed for the back. Eames moved over to her partner, who was flipping through the pages of the jukebox.

"Bartender went to get the security tape from last night. We might have a shot of our mystery man, and if we're lucky maybe the plate of the car.

Goren nodded.

Apartment of Emily Handsen

255 E 93rd St

Brooklyn, New York

"I'm _fine_, would you quit babying me? Go to work!"

The words were muffled, but clear as day to the two detectives who stood outside the door of the first floor apartment.

There was some more conversation, but unclear as the two had presumably moved away from the door.

The detectives exchanged looks, and Eames raised her hand to the door. Just as she was about to knock, the door flew open and a young woman jumped back, startled.

"Jeez, you guys just scared the crap out of me," Emily Handsen said, catching her breath. She looked a lot smaller without her work gear. She could have passed for fifteen years old, if she tried.

"Sorry," Eames said. "Can we come in?" She looked from Handsen, to Delgado, who stood a few feet away from the door.

Handsen forced a smile. "Sure. _Rick_ was just _leaving_."

"Rick. . . Enrique Delgado?" Goren asked.

"Yeah, that's me," Delgado answered.

"Oh, we actually want to talk to you, too."

Handsen's smile faded and her brow furrowed. "Okay," she said slowly. She stepped back from the door to allow the detectives to enter and locked it behind them. She motioned toward the dining table. "Have a seat. You want anything to drink? Coffee, water. . .?"

Both detectives shook their heads and remained standing.

"We actually came by to talk to you about what happened last night," Eames said.

Handsen froze. "Oh really." Her voice had become considerably colder. "Why is that? Look at the 61, it's all there." She crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "And why is Major Case investigating an assault, anyway? People's beers get drugged all the time."

"We actually don't think that this was random," Eames jumped in, cutting Handsen's rant short.

"So you think, what, exactly? I'm helping you catch a murderer and a serial rapist all in the same night?"

"Emmie—"

"Don't 'Emmie' me, Rick," she said fiercely. "Didn't I tell you to go to work?"

"The Sarge told me to take the day," he answered. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"That actually. . . might be a good idea," Goren interjected. That got both rookies' attention. "We have reason to believe that you were targeted."

"Targeted?" Handsen repeated, louder than she'd meant to.

Goren dropped his binder on the dining table and opened it up to a photo. "Nicole Wallace," he continued. He held the photo out to Handsen. "Had you ever seen her before yesterday?"

Handsen sighed and took the photo, examining it closely before shrugging and handing it back. "No. I haven't."

"Did any of her aliases sound familiar to you?"

She was becoming frustrated again. "No, and I don't see—"

"Nicole Wallace," Goren interrupted firmly, "has committed at least 19 murders; those are the ones that we know of. She likes to make things personal."

"So I get a mickey in my drink the night I arrest her, you just automatically assume it was her?" Handsen asked. "She's out on bail, it's not like she really got locked up, I drove her to court. And it was her own fault; she jaywalked right in front of us, right, Rick?"

Delgado nodded. "Yeah, we were standing right there. I mean, sure, jaywalking is a bullshit summons, but to do it right in front of us? Come on, what did she expect?"

Goren's interest was perked. He looked from one rookie to the other. "She did it right in front of you. . . Did she. . . Did she see you?"

"She had to have," Handsen said. "We were right on the corner, 1-2-5 and 8th, she walked right to us. She was digging through her bag, but she was glancing up every few seconds. We're two rookies with shiny new badges, you can't really miss us."

Goren nodded, closing up his binder. "What can you tell us about last night?"

"Me?" Handsen asked, adding on half a chuckle. "Nothing."

"The squad went to out to the bar to celebrate Emmie's little. . . victory," Delgado jumped in. "She was buying rounds, then she got up and I saw her go downstairs, that's where the bathrooms are."

"That's pretty much the last thing I remember," Handsen added.

"I kept looking for her to come back," Delgado continued. "The place was packed and she didn't look right when she came back up."

"Didn't look right. . . how?" Eames asked.

"Like she was trashed, but she couldn't have been, she'd only had three beers. I was talking with the guys and I looked over at the stairs again, and saw Emmie leaning against the wall talking to some guy. He put his arm around her and led her toward the back door. That's when I went after them, but there were so many people it took me a while to catch up to them. When I did, they were in the back alley. I called out to them, I think I startled the guy, he dropped Emmie. He looked like he was ready to throw down, but there was a car waiting and whoever was inside honked the horn. The guy just jumped in and they took off. I ran to Emmie and called for a bus."

"You framed your Academy certificate?" Goren asked from the living room.

Emmie was visibly thrown for a moment. "Uuuhm. . . Yes?" She looked at Eames, then back to the nosy detective in the next room, now poking at trinkets on a shelf. "Is that ok with you?"

Goren looked up from the shot glass which he now held in his hand. "Um, yeah, that's fine. I just—I have mine between the pages of my dictionary."

Back in the kitchen, Eames cleared her throat. "The man who left with Emmie," she said to Delgado. "Did he look familiar at all?"

Delgado shook his head. "It was dark, and I was a little buzzed."

"What are you doing to my TV?" Handsen said suddenly, making a beeline for the living room.

Goren stood up from his crouching position, holding a VHS tape. "Cameras at the bar caught the guy's face," he explained.

Handsen crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back. "Oh. Yeah, sure you can use my VCR, thanks for asking!"

Goren went back to tinkering, and when a grainy black and white picture popped onto the screen, Delgado moved closer and squinted at the image. A young man, about college-aged and dressed similarly to the rest of the college crowd, approached the bar and stood next to Handsen. Casually, while the rookies were silently preoccupied with congratulating each other, he set his beer down next to Handsen's. Several seconds went by, and he picked her bottle up, leaving his, and walked away.

Goren paused the video at the point where they could best view the man's face, but Delgado was already shaking his head.

"I've never seen him before," he said.

"I might have," Handsen said slowly. All eyes turned to her. "I'm not sure where," she added. "It might not even be him I'm thinking of. He just looks a little familiar."

Goren ejected the tape.

"Unfortunately there were no cameras outside, so we don't have a plate—"

"I have a partial," Delgado cut Eames off. He looked at the palm of his hand, where several pen marks were barely visible. "The first three were D-X-J, it was a dark Lincoln Towncar. No, I didn't see who was driving."

Goren scribbled all of this onto his notepad.

"We're going to circulate this guy's face," Eames continued. "Hopefully something will turn up."

Eames unlocked the doors to the SUV and climbed in, but Goren seemed frozen, lost in thought. Eames sighed and climbed back out.

"What is it?"

Goren looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Uh. . . Handsen. When we showed her Nicole's photo. . . She took a long time studying it, almost as if she wanted to make a show of it. . ."

"Like she wanted to convince us she really hadn't seen her before," Eames finished.

"And then when I asked about her aliases. . ."

"She answered right away," Eames finished again. 

"There's something she's not telling us," Goren concluded.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey! So it only took a bout of strep and two weeks of sick leave from work to get me to add another chapter. Jeez, once I got Rock Band I thought all my other hobbies were just going to fade into nonexistence. I'm glad they didn't! I still have another week stuck at home, so I promise chapter 4 won't be nearly as long of a wait!

Not sure about the ship factor. I've never been much of a "romance" writer. But I guess that would be a new way to challenge myself, right?

Thank you everyone for the reviews! Feedback is sooo cool:-D

Chapter 3

Nicole Wallace leaned back on the leather sofa, bringing a glass of red wine to her lips. She took a sip, and then reached to the window behind the sofa to separate the blinds and look out into the dark street. The unmarked Impala was still sitting across the street. She could just make out the person inside looking back up at her.

A cell phone vibrated from the coffee table. Nicole set the glass down on a coaster and picked up the phone.

"Hello darling," she answered it pleasantly. "What happened last night? Why didn't you finish—"She paused, listening. "No. It's okay. You learn from your mistakes. Now you know for next time." Nicole paused, and her voice changed from lecturing elder to caring equal. "And once we get this taken care of, it will be you and me, and we can leave all of this behind us." She smiled. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep well."

She closed the phone and set it back on the table, switching it for her wineglass and settling back on the couch. The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed down the hallway, and footsteps approached.

"Hey gorgeous." A tall, handsome young man leaned against the doorframe, staring at Nicole.

She smiled, showing off her pearly whites. "Joshua. What's kept you?"

Joshua smiled back and moved to sit beside Nicole, caressing her thigh and getting comfortable.

"Amadou didn't show for his shift, I couldn't leave." He stole a kiss through his grin. "So you still haven't told me what this whole vendetta against this little cop is about."

"Oh, it's. . . personal," Nicole assured him. "Nothing to get your head in a knot about." She smiled, set the wine down and moved closer to Joshua. "Besides. Once she's out of the way-" she ran her fingers through his hair "-and this is all over with-" she stole a kiss "-it'll be just you and me. And our happily ever after."

Joshua's brow furrowed. "Just you and me? But what about--?"

Nicole put a finger to his lips to quiet him. "She's not up to it." She reached over to the end table and opened the drawer. She returned to Joshua and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. "But you. . ." She slid a small plastic bag with two little pills into his pocket. "I know you're up to it. Right?"


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: So this week I was hit with a sudden inspiration and knocked out like four chapters, so updates should be a lot more often than every six months from now on. Thank you for the reviews, positive reinforcement is such a great thing! I know it's short, but the next chapter is long, so it balances out in the end. Right?

:-)

Disclaimer: Um, yeah, I'm just borrowing them.

Chapter 4

"All right, thanks," Eames said into the desk phone. "Just make sure you keep an eye on her, and note descriptions of her visitors." She hung up and looked across the desks to her partner.

"That was the tail we put on Nicole," she relayed. "Home all night, no one came or went. You want to pull her LUDS?"

Goren shook his head as he sorted papers on his desk. "She's too smart for that. She'll have used a prepaid phone that can't be traced to her." He stopped mid-sort, a sheet of paper in each hand in midair. "Look up Handsen's records. Maybe there's something in there."

Eames typed "Handsen, Emily" into the department's database. Several matches appeared, and she scrolled to the one with the right birthday.

"Mother deceased," Eames read aloud. Goren put the papers down and moved around behind his partner to read over her shoulder. "No father listed on the birth certificate."

"When did the mother die?" Goren asked.

Eames scrolled. "Seven years ago, Handsen would have been 15. Suicide. Overdosed. . . on cyanide? You'd think there'd be easier ways to go." She scrolled some more. "Handsen ended up in a foster home till she aged out at 18, went to college, graduated, ended up here."

"Look up her department file."

Eames nodded, clicked print and did some more typing. "Graduated the academy at the top of her class, assigned to the 2-9, good arrest activity, mostly possession and petit larceny." Eames scrolled down again. And her eyebrows rose slightly. "Her computer ID was used to access department files on Mark Ford Brady." She looked up at her partner who was staring intently at the screen.

"There's more, scroll down."

Eames turned back to the screen and scrolled. And her eyebrows rose higher as she looked back to Goren.

"Why was she looking up Nicole Wallace's file if she'd never heard of her?" she asked. "And a serial killer executed last month?"

Goren went back to his desk and began to shuffle through his papers again. Not finding what he wanted he went into his bottom drawer and pulled a file out. After turning a few more sheets, he pulled out an old voucher and looked up at Eames.

"I have to go down to the evidence room."

Eames stood with him and headed to the elevator.

* * *

"Here you go." The clerk behind the counter tried to offer a friendly smile, but it came out kind of strained and was more creepy than friendly. 

Goren took the plastic bag and laid it down on a table. He pulled out his pocketknife, cutting the bag open and pulling out a book. "The 80's" was handwritten in permanent marker on the front. Goren began flipping pages.

"Do you have the printouts?" He saw Eames nod out of the corner of his eye. "I need the photo of Handsen's mother."

Eames flipped through the pages she had and pulled out the relevant one. Goren took it and turned a few more pages in the book.

"Here." He set the printout down next to the 8x10 glossy in the book. The woman in the book was about 15 years younger than the printout, but it was the same woman.

"That answers one," Eames said. "But what does this have to do with Nicole?"

Goren shook his head. "I'm not sure yet."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Enjoy Chapter 5! You know who's mine and who's not.

* * *

Joshua popped the tops off of two beers and carried them into the living room, where Jamie Soloman sat on her couch, staring at the Channel 4 news but not really watching it. Her attention snapped back to reality when a beer was held inches from her face. She looked up at Joshua, smiled, and took the bottle.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

Joshua sat in the recliner, watching Soloman and sipping his own beer. "You okay, Jamie?"

She offered him a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure? You've been off on another planet a lot lately."

She nodded and took a swig. "I've just been. . . I don't know. I'm fine. Really." She took another swig and made a face. "Josh, how long ago did you buy this beer? It tastes funny."

He shook his head. "I just bought it on my way over. Mine tastes fine." He took another gulp, as though that would settle it. He let a few minutes go by before speaking again. "Nicole's worried about you."

Soloman's head snapped toward Joshua, eyes wide. "There's no reason to worry. Really, I'm okay."

"She's worried you're not up to it."

"I am," Soloman insisted. She took another drink. "I've just had some stuff going on. My mother and I haven't been getting along too well, work is stressing me out. . . But I can do this. Tell her that."

Joshua nodded. "I will."

* * *

**33-52 W 31st ST**

**Astoria, Queens**

**Thursday, April 5, 2007**

"Her mother found her at about 12:30," Sgt Callahan. "When the daughter didn't show for their lunch date, mom came lookin' for her."

Goren and Eames followed the sergeant through the small apartment to the bedroom in the back.

"The M.E. put the time of death between 10 and two last night." Callahan stopped and shook his head, looking down at the form of a body covered by the M.E.'s sheet. "She looks like she just lay down and went to sleep."

Goren pulled the sheet back, revealing a young woman, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Jamie Soloman did indeed have the peaceful look of someone who had just gone to sleep.

As Goren poked and prodded and sniffed at the body, Callahan continued talking. "I was just going to hand it over to the squad here at the one-fourteen, but they said to call you, something about an ongoing investigation involving cops at the 2-9."

"You did the right thing sarge," Eames said. "Thanks."

"She was drinking beer," Goren said, not looking up from the body.

"Yeah, there's a couple bottles in the kitchen," Callahan confirmed.

"I doubt she was drinking alone," Goren said. "We'll need them dusted for prints."

"You suspect foul play in this?" Callahan asked. He pointed at the nightstand where several prescription bottles sat. "It's like a straight up suicide. She's got Ambien on her nightstand and she was drinking."

Goren pressed on the corpse's sternum, and inhaled the expelled air. "Almonds."

"Cyanide," Eames concluded. Goren nodded.

Callahan took a deep breath. "I'll let CSU know to bag the bottles and have them dusted."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: 90 of this isn't mine. Rock Band and XBOX 360, while I do own them, I don't _own_ them. Make sense?

Author's Note: Now, I'm saying anything for sure, but just a heads up, there might, _might_ be a spoiler or two from Endgame. So you've been warned. :-)

* * *

The stage lights rose and the crowd cheered. Emmie Handsen positioned her fingers over the frets on her Fender Stratocaster, ready for the first notes of the song. She looked over at the bassist and grinned slyly.

"You ready, Rick?" she asked.

He smirked back. "Let's do it."

They both turned back to the crowd just in time, and started playing.

"Rick, you're messing it up, we're down in the yellow!"

"I'm sorry, it's a tough one!"

"It _should_ be tough, it's on hard!"

"Look! You filled your meter, go into overdrive!"

"I'm trying! It's not—okay, here I go."

Rick and Emmie stood in the living room of Emmie's Brooklyn apartment, in front of the TV, each holding a plastic guitar plugged into an Xbox.

"Red, Emmie, it's red!"

"I know, I know!" she squealed.

The crowd was booing now. "Uuurrrgh!" Emmie growled out. She hit the start button, pausing the game. She looked at her partner.

"You said you were good!" She playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

Rick held up his hands in a defensive posture. "Yeah, I'm good, on Medium! I'm not used to the orange button yet!"

Emmie held up a finger and moved it toward Rick's face. "Listen. If we're gonna do this—"

She was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. She turned her head to look at the offending gadget lying on the coffee table. She turned back to Rick.

"One moment," she told him, mock-threateningly.

She set the plastic guitar controller down and picked up the phone. "Hello? Yes, speaking… Hi, what's up?" Rick watched as Emmie's expression became confused. "Okay, I'll be there in an hour." She set the phone down and looked at Rick.

"What's wrong?"

"That was one of the detectives…"

"From yesterday?"

She nodded. "They want me to go in to talk to them."

"About what?"

Emmie shrugged. "The case I guess. She didn't really say. She just said they needed me to go in to clarify a few details."

"All right," Rick said, setting his guitar controller down. "I'll come—"

Emmie shook her head. "No, no, stay. I'll be fine. Besides. You need _a lot_ more practice." She smiled at him, but didn't get one in return.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be _fine_, Rick. I'll see you at work."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, as though that made everything right, grabbed up her keys and cell phone, and was out the door.

* * *

Emmie stepped off the elevator and stopped the first cop she saw. "Hi, sorry, Goren and Eames?" 

"Straight down there," he said, pointing.

"Thanks."

She went in the direction he'd indicated, coming to the end of the hallway which opened up into the bullpen that was the Major Case Squad. Pairs of desks were scattered all over the big room, detectives walked across to the fax machine and rushed to answer ringing phones. Straight ahead was the pair Emmie was looking for.

Goren saw her coming first. "She's here," he muttered to Eames, standing up.

Emmie smiled politely. "Hey, what's up?"

Goren gathered his papers into his binder. "We're going to talk in that conference room right over there."

Emmie nodded. "Okay." She turned and headed over.

After everyone was settled around the table, Emmie on one side, Goren and Eames on the other, Emmie offered a helpful smile.

"So. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, Ms. Handsen—" Eames began, but Emmie interrupted her.

"Oh, um, you can call me Emmie," she said. "It, uh. . . 'Ms. Handsen' just. . . Well, you can call me Emmie."

Eames smiled, humoring her. "Okay. Emmie. We're having some difficulty pinning down why Wallace would come after you. We were hoping you could help us, maybe come up with some ideas."

Emmie was lost. "Like what? I'd never met her before I arrested her."

"Maybe she knows someone you arrested in the past," Eames led her on. "Maybe you gave a ticket to one of her friends. Is there anyone that stands out?"

Emmie couldn't quite suppress a snort of amusement. "I'm a white cop in Harlem, everyone has a problem with me. Whenever I need a collar, all I have to do is try to write someone for double parking. 90 percent of the time it either ends in a summons or an arrest."

"You must have quite a. . . Quite a way of talking to people," Goren said.

Emmie shrugged. "You know how it is, when you need a collar."

Goren nodded.

"So if no one stands out from work," Eames continued, "maybe it was someone outside of work."

"What, like I pissed someone off by taking the last dryer at the laundromat?"

"Or," Goren said, "maybe it has something to do with this?" Goren opened his binder and pulled the top sheet out. He slid it across the table.

Emmie looked down at the paper. "What's this?" She tried to act as though she really didn't know, but her voice had lost a lot of its confidence.

"That's a record of files your computer ID was used to look up," Goren told her. He pointed at a line with his pen. "See here. . . Here's where you looked up the serial killer, Mark Ford Brady. And then, a few days later. . ." He moved the pen down the page. "You were looking up Nicole Wallace."

Emmie stared at the spot on the page Goren indicated. She was keeping a cool exterior, but inside she was trying frantically to come up with an explanation.

"I took a forensic psychology class in college," she said. "I remembered Nicole Wallace from the papers a few years ago, I thought I could access more information on the department database."

"To satisfy your own curiosity," Goren stated.

"Right," Emmie confirmed.

"And it was the same thing with Mark Ford Brady?"

"Yeah," Emmie said. "After his execution, there was that rash of news stories about him. It was the same thing as Wallace, just to satisfy my own curiosity. I didn't print anything out, I didn't divulge any of the information to anyone outside the department. . ."

"No," Eames cut in, "see, you looked up the files on Brady a month _before_ his execution. In fact, he still had one appeal left when you looked him up."

Emmie said nothing. She looked down at the paper in front of her for lack of another place to look.

"We did the math," Goren said quietly. "We know. . . that Brady is your biological father." He ducked his head, trying to catch Emmie's lowered gaze. "What we need your help with. . . is figuring out why you were looking up Nicole. It's just too much of a coincidence for us to believe that you looking in her files and her coming after you are not connected."

Emmie looked up with watery eyes. "And just how would she know that I typed her name into a department search engine? Short of knowing in advance that I would, and put some kind of spyware in the system." Emmie cleared her throat, blinked her eyes and stood up. "I have to leave if I'm going to make roll call."

Goren let her turn the door handle before he spoke. "Jamie Soloman is dead."

Emmie froze, still holding the door two inches open. She took a breath. Then another. Then slammed the door and spun around.

"What?" It was barely above a whisper.

Goren nodded, rising from his chair. "She was murdered last night, someone put cyanide in her beer, in her apartment."

"Cyanide in her beer, Rohypnol in yours," Eames chimed in. "See a pattern?"

"B-But," Emmie sputtered, "then it _is_ coincidence she came after me! Jamie didn't have anything to—That psycho is just going after cops?"

Goren shook his head. "Nicole doesn't do anything randomly. Everything she does has a purpose."

Emmie's knees shook and she sank back into the chair. "But Jamie had nothing to do with it. Unless. . ."

"Unless she was involved on Nicole's end?" Eames finished.

Emmie looked up, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face.

* * *

The detectives watched Emmie walk to the elevators from their desks. After she had rounded the corner, Eames looked at her partner, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, still staring at the point where Emmie had disappeared. 

"Bobby," she said softly, "did you ever find out—"

"Not for sure, no," he interrupted. He sat at his desk and opened his binder, organizing papers, needing a distraction.

"If it's true, if Brady is that girl's father—"

He nodded. "She could be my sister, I know." He stopped shuffling papers and looked up. "Spyware."

Eames looked at him. "You think Nicole actually did?"

"She's obsessed with me," Goren explained. "She would want to be able to check up and see what I'm doing, if I'm thinking about her. Maybe she caught Emmie Handsen looking instead of me. Looked up _her_ file, paid a visit to the 2-9. . ."

"I'll call TARU," Eames said, already dialing.

* * *

So are you in suspense now:-) 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Things are going to heat up a little bit, I think. There may be a surprise or two, unless you saw it coming. I really hope you didn't see it coming though. Surprises are so much fun!

* * *

Chapter 7

"You know, I'm surprised you're back at work so soon," Officer Harrison said to Emmie.

She looked up from the parking ticket she was writing. "Really Harry, why's that?" She went back to writing.

"Are you serious? Some pervert drugs your beer and you find out you have a stalker? I'd be in hiding."

"If I go into hiding, the stalker wins, right?" Emmie tore the ticket out of her book and put it under the windshield wiper. "Besides," she continued as she joined her temporary partner on the sidewalk, "it could be worse."

Harrison nodded and they walked down the block. "I know, poor Soloman. I wish I could help find out who did it."

"That's gonna be up to the detectives," Emmie said. "They're the same ones working on my case; they're pretty bright."

Harrison looked at Emmie. "Do they think the cases are related?"

Emmie shrugged. "I don't know."

They came to a stop on the corner of 125th and Madison. Emmie leaned back against the corner of the building, looking across 125th Street.

"I'm sorry if I'm being too forward," Harrison continued talking. "I know I'm not your steady partner. But we all work together out here, right? And I mean, if someone's after cops, we're all in the same boat, right?"

Emmie wasn't looking at him. She was staring across the street.

"Handsen?"

"That's him," she said. She sounded like she didn't believe it.

"Who?"

"White guy, black t-shirt, blue jeans, at the table across the street, selling I love NY shirts. That's the asshole who drugged me."

"Are you sure? I thought you didn't get a look—"

"I saw the security tape," she said. "You go around that way. I'm gonna come up from behind."

* * *

"Show New York how much you love us, buy a shirt!" Joshua shouted as people passed by. "Don't leave our great city without a great souvenir!"

As Joshua turned to his table, he caught sight of the approaching cop.

"You got your vendor's license?" Harrison called out.

"Aw, man," Joshua muttered. He reached to his pocket, then spun around ready to run—

"Don't move!" Emmie bellowed. She worked hard to keep her hands from shaking as she pointed her Glock at Joshua. "Give me a reason," she whispered as she closed in. The barrel was inches from Joshua's chest. "One reason, you son of a bitch."

Joshua smiled. "I'll come quietly, officer." He cooperatively put his hands behind his back and Harrison cuffed him.

* * *

Emmie shut the cell door and pulled out her cell phone. "As soon as your prints are verified I'll send you downtown," she told Joshua.

"Are you gonna tell me what I was arrested for?"

"Vending without a license." Emmie left the holding room and dialed a number. "Hey, Jake, it's Emmie. I need a favor. I just sent some prints and I need them pushed to the front. . . Yeah, I need them run against all active cases. . . Okay, thanks."

"We're from Major Case, looking for Officer Handsen."

Emmie looked toward the front desk at the sound of Eames voice. "Detectives." She waved them over. When they reached her, she indicated the holding cell. "Look familiar? He's a vendor, sells t-shirts down on 125th."

"What'd you charge him with?" Goren asked.

"Unlicensed vending," Emmie told him. "I know, I'm personally involved so I couldn't charge him with the assault."

"Handsen!"

"Excuse me," Emmie said. "What's up, Sarge?"

"Is there a reason your partner has decided not grace us with his presence today?"

"I'll try calling him again Sarge," she said.

Stepping around the corner, Emmie pulled out her cell again and hit a speed dial number. On the third ring she heard the line connect. She didn't wait for him to say hello.

"Rick! Where are you? Sergeant Phelps is pissed!"

"Oh, hello, Emmie, is it?"

"Nicole?"

"Rick isn't going to make it into work today," she said, sounding quite pleased with herself.

"What have done to him?"

"Nothing yet," Nicole said. "He's just. . . napping right now."

"You bitch, I swear to _God_ if anything happens to—"

"Then I propose a switch. I've got your partner. . . and you've got mine."

"Joshua?"

"I want him back, I don't care what you have to do."

"Come on Nicole, I know you're not _that _crazy. Even if I wanted to, there's nothing I can do. I can't just let him walk out."

"You wouldn't risk your job to save your partner's life? Partner in more ways than one, I understand."

"What do you want, Nicole? Why are you doing this to me?"

There was a pause. Emmie thought she had hung up for a moment.

"We'll make another switch, then," she finally said. "I'll give you Rick. And you give me. . . you."

"What?"

"Water Street, under the Brooklyn Bridge. Midnight."

"You have _got_ to be kidding."

"You want him to be okay, right?"

Nicole hung up. Emmie looked at the phone, as though she could reconnect the line. Then the rage exploded. It was almost as if it happened in slow motion. She dropped her phone. It hit the floor and bounced in one direction while the battery went in another. But Emmie was already fifteen feet away and didn't even notice. She hadn't even noticed that she'd moved until she was opening the door to Joshua's cell. No one else realized what was happening until she had gone _into _the cell and took Joshua down to the floor. Before Goren and Eames, who were closest, got to the cell Emmie had him in a painful armlock.

"Where are they?" she screamed. "Where does she have him?"

"Ow! Ow! I don't know!! I swear, I don't know!"

"Don't lie to me, you son of a bitch!"

"Emmie! Emmie, get off of him!" Goren had gotten there first, but he didn't want to get in the middle of the altercation just yet. Not only because he sided with Emmie and could relate with her frustration, but also for such a small person she packed a mean punch. Joshua was six feet, two-twenty easy, and she'd just taken him down by herself.

"What the hell?" Sergeant Phelps elbowed his way into the small holding room which was packed with cops. "Someone get her out of there!"

Before anyone could touch her, Emmie let got of Joshua and stood up. Joshua scrambled to his feet and backed into the corner of the cell.

"That bitch is crazy! Don't let her near me again! I'm filing a complaint!"

"About what?" Phelps asked. "I didn't see anything. Anyone see anything?"

There was a general agreement of "no" and everyone filed out of the room.

"Handsen!" Phelps barked. "Office! Now!"

The fire not quite put out, Emmie went to the Sergeants' office, followed closely by Phelps, and by Goren and Eames.

Phelps slammed the door. "What the _HELL_ was that about?"

Emmie looked instead to the two detectives. "I just called Rick's cell, Wallace answered. She's pissed because I arrested Joshua. She's got Rick, she's _got Rick_."

Phelps' angry face softened. "Are you sure?"

Emmie looked at her sergeant. "Sarge. Sh-She's holding him to trade. . . F-For me."

"Where's your phone?" Goren asked.

"I-I don't know, I dropped it," Emmie said. "Around the corner." She pointed. Goren went out the door.

"Nicole Wallace, that's the perp you brought in the other day," Phelps said.

Emmie nodded.

"What does she want with you?"

Emmie shook her head and wiped her eyes.

A cell phone chirped. Eames pulled her phone out and stepped out of the room. "Eames."

"Sarge. . ." Emmie looked up at her boss, tears still flowing down her cheeks. "What do we do?"

Goren entered the office, on his phone, putting the battery back into Emmie's phone. "Okay." He looked at Emmie. "What's your cell number?"

"917-555-8939."

"You got that?" Goren said into his phone. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks." He ended his call. "Okay, TARU is looking into your cell. They'll get the location the last call originated from. They should at least be able to get the cell tower. If she calls again, they can get an exact location." He decided not to mention that Nicole was probably too smart for that and would somehow compensate, having foreseen what steps they would take.

Eames stepped back into the office. "That was latent," she said. "This mutt's prints popped as a match to the prints they pulled off of the bottles from the Soloman crime scene."

"So this is the asshole that killed Jamie?" Emmie burst out.

"Oh Christ," Phelps breathed.

"We don't know that yet," Goren said. "Look, he's in custody. He's not going anywhere. Right now we have to focus on Rick. Emmie, when was the last time you saw him?"

"When you called me," she answered. "We were playing video games at my place, I left him there when I came in to your office. Didn't you put a tail on her? Wouldn't they have seen. . ."

"Shorthanded, they pulled the cops off the detail this morning," Eames said.

"Shit," Phelps breathed.

"What did Nicole say to you?" Goren asked. "She wants to exchange you for Rick, how is this supposed to happen?"

"Uhh. . . Water Street under the Brooklyn Bridge at midnight," Emmie told him.

"I'd better go brief the Duty Captain," Phelps said. He left the office and closed the door behind him.

Emmie sank into a chair, put her elbows on the desk and held her head in her hands.

"Emmie." Goren pulled a chair close and sat next to her. "The more you tell us about everything, the more effective we can be."

Emmie wiped her eyes again. She took a breath in an attempt to calm herself. "I have suspicions, but that's about all. Nothing really concrete."

"Why were you researching her?"

Emmie took another deep breath. "My father was never in my life. I don't know who he is; he isn't listed on my birth certificate and my mother didn't tell me too much about him. I know he had been in the army and they had met when my mother lived in Pennsylvania. My mother died when I was fifteen. When I was going through everything, I found some letters she had saved. One was from Mark Brady. It was some nonsense about not being able to spare any money for us. It sounded like she had contacted him. I found another letter from Nancy Wallace. I guess she was an old girlfriend of his, she was offering some kind of emotional support or something. She said she knew what my mother had gone through and if she wanted to talk, she could talk to her. I went to the library and looked up the names, but couldn't find much. Mark Brady, well there's tons of Mark Brady's out there, and the only thing I knew about Nancy Wallace was that her letter was postmarked from Australia."

Emmie paused and took a few breaths. "So when I got hired here, well we have excellent databases. Mark Brady- I knew he was older than my mother and he'd been in the army in the 60's, and he originated from Brooklyn. That brought me to Mark Ford Brady. When I realized who he was. . . Well I wasn't about to get in contact with him. The search on Nancy Wallace from Australia gave me a death certificate, but also a birth certificate- for Nicole Wallace. _Her_ father _is_ listed on her birth certificate."

"Mark Ford Brady," Goren said.

Emmie nodded. "Yeah," she said quietly. "If we haven't found her by 11, I'm going to meet her."

Goren nodded. He knew there'd be no talking her out of it. He'd do the same thing.

* * *

_So what'd you think? Were you surprised? Loved it? Hated it? Let me know! Thanks!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Author's Note: Hi all! Thank you for the reviews! They encourage me to go on! Though honestly, I would anyway, but they make me all warm and fuzzy inside and make me smile outside! So thanks!

Also, a Goren interrogation is a lot harder to write than I had anticipated. I'm aware that I'm likely speaking the obvious for you veteran fanfic-er's, but just a head's up that it might be out of character. Let me know what you think of it.

* * *

29th Precinct Interrogation Room

Thursday, April 5, 2007

7:51PM

Bobby Goren watched his prey through the one way glass, observing him while turning courses of action over in his mind. They were on a time crunch. It was already going on eight o'clock. If they were going to get anything out of this hump, they were going to need to get it quickly.

Joshua Barnes struck Goren as a somewhat jumpy man. That should make him easy to shake up. If Nicole followed her past pattern, he'd be easy to manipulate. Unfortunately, Nicole would have already done a lot of manipulating in her favor, which would make it take longer to flip him.

Goren looked down at his binder and flipped it open to Joshua Barnes' file. He didn't have much criminal history. He had no history of violence. Goren looked back up into the interrogation room. Barnes was bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Anxiety, nervousness; he was ready.

"I want my lawyer."

Goren had barely set one foot in the room when Joshua greeted him with the outburst. Goren closed the door behind him and tossed his binder on the table, shaking his head.

"Maybe you don't understand the gravity of the situation," he said, shaking a long index finger at Joshua. "There's an officer missing. And you—" He pointed the finger at Joshua's face. "You're going to help us find him."

"I don't know _nothing_ about no missing cop," Joshua said, crossing his arms over chest. "I want my lawyer."

Goren sat in the chair opposite Joshua and opened his binder and flipped through some pages. "You see that, what you did with your arms?" he asked, without looking up. "That's a defensive posture. It suggests that you _do_ know something about this… _missing cop_." Goren folded his hands together and looked at Joshua, who had pointlessly dropped his arms to his sides.

"There's no record of violence in your jacket," he continued. "Why would you suddenly want to change that by letting this young cop—"

"By letting him what? Nicole wouldn't hurt him. Nicole wouldn't hurt anyone!"

"Really." Goren pulled a photo out of his binder and dropped it in front of Joshua. "This is Ella. She and Nicole were lovers a few years back. Until Nicole killed her."

Joshua looked down at the 8x10 glossy of Ella lying in the morgue and shook his head. "Ella committed suicide," he said. "She was unstable. When—"

"_This_ is Mark Bailey," Goren interrupted. "Nicole poisoned his nicotine gum when he was about to flip on her."

"This isn't her!" Joshua burst out again. "She wouldn't do these things! You don't know her like I do!"

"Yeah? And how's that?"

"She's a caring person," Joshua said. "When we were up at my cabin, a deer limped up to the front porch. It had a broken leg. Nicole, she… That deer wouldn't have had a _chance_ without her!"

"Would a caring person try to have a police officer killed?"

"That was _my_ idea, I did it myself!"

Goren nodded. "She killed Jamie Solomon."

"Nicole didn't kill her, I did!"

Silence echoed throughout the room.

"You killed Jamie Solomon."

"Yes! Don't you see? Nicole would never have done anything like that. I did it! On my own!"

Goren nodded again. "Your cabin. Where is that?"

"Up near Syracuse."

Goren slid his notepad and a pen across the table. "The address."

Joshua looked from Goren to the notepad, and back to Goren. He crossed his arms again.

"Well, if Nicole really is the great person you say she is, we won't find anything, right?"

Joshua looked down at the notepad again. And picked up the pen.

* * *

"Syracuse?" Eames was leaning back against the desk in the Sergeants' office, exchanging information with Goren. "But if she's in Syracuse, it's almost ten o'clock. How is she getting back here to meet Emmie by the deadline?"

"She might not be there now, maybe… Maybe she's planning on taking Emmie there," Goren hypothesized. "What did you find at the apartment?"

Eames sighed. "A whole lot of nothing. If we hadn't had surveillance on her, I would say Nicole was never even there."

"She cleared out," Goren said. "She has no intention of going back there. She left her partner to hang."

"She didn't kill this one, for a change."

Goren half-shrugged. "She thought he didn't know anything worth killing him to keep quiet." He looked around. "Where's Emmie?"

"She went to the locker room," Eames said. "You ready to set something up?"

Goren nodded absently, now leafing through his binder.

"I'll go get her."

* * *

"Emmie?" Eames called into the women's locker room. Hearing no response, she stepped in. "Emmie, are you in here?" Still only silence echoed back at her.

Eames walked through the room, looking at each locker. Finally, she came to the one marked 'Handsen #4013.' A quick glance through the cage-type door revealed a uniform and gun belt neatly hung on the hooks, holster empty and civilian clothes gone.

"Damn it," Eames muttered, running back out to the bullpen where Goren was waiting.

* * *

_So what did we think of chapter 8? Ended in suspense? Or not really? Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!_


	9. Chapter 9

Yay reviews!

Chapter 9

The gray Beetle pulled to the curb facing the Brooklyn Bridge, but about half a block south. Emmie subconsciously felt for her gun, holstered at her hip, but just slightly to the back. Nicole was no idiot; Emmie was a cop, of course she was going to be armed. But all the same, if she could hide the lump. . . The phrase 'out of sight, out of mind' flicked through her thoughts.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. 10:03. She was three hours early. But if this was really going down, she wanted Nicole to show up after her. She wanted to have the advantage over that psycho bitch, not the other way around.

The shrill ring of her cell phone startled Emmie out of her thoughts. She looked at the caller ID before answering: a private number. It could be her.

"Hello?"

"Emmie, where are you?" It was definitely not her. It was a man.

"Who is this?"

"It's Detective Goren, where are you?"

Oh. Right. Oops.

"Didn't your partner tell you where I was going?"

"Maybe if you'd told her first, she would have," he said. He sounded irritated.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Where are you?" he asked again.

"I'm on Pearl Street, about half a block south of the bridge. Where else would I be?"

"Emmie, we need you here so we can plan a tactical course of action," Goren told her. "Why did you go down there by yourself?"

Now Emmie was beginning to get irritated. "Because I didn't want this bitch showing up early and getting an advantage over me."

"All right. We're coming down there. Don't move."

"Okay, okay, I'll be right here." Emmie closed the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. She sat back in the seat, arms crossed, taking deep breaths.

Did he really think she was a total idiot like that? Where else would she have gone. _They _are_ the detectives_, she thought irritably to herself. _Shouldn't they have been able to figure it out?_

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, then opened them again. There was no point dwelling on it. She had a job to do.

* * *

Eames looked at her watch on their way to the SUV. "It's barely ten o'clock!"

"She thinks she's keeping Nicole from getting an advantage."

Goren slid into the passenger seat as Eames climbed into the driver seat and started the engine.

"Any ideas?" she asked as she floored the gas and took off toward the FDR Drive.

"A couple," Goren said. "She said she's south of the bridge. Make sure you come from the north."

* * *

Nicole double checked the back seat, making sure he was still unconscious. He was. She slammed the door and got into the driver's seat, glancing at her watch. Plenty of time. She checked her purse, then put the vehicle in drive and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

Emmie changed the radio station. Commercial. She changed it again. Rap. She changed it again. Commercial. She changed it again. Red Hot Chili Peppers. She left it.

Time was moving slower than she ever remembered it moving. The clock read 10:53. Goren and Eames should be pulling up any minute. Hopefully they had a plan because all Emmie had was her Glock.

Outside, coming southbound toward the VW Beetle, a set of headlights was approaching. Emmie squinted to make out the vehicle; the high beams were on. Judging by the height, it was probably an SUV. Should be Goren and Eames' SUV. Emmie took her keys out of the ignition and, checking her weapon one last time, got out of the car as the SUV pulled to a stop in front of her.

As the tinted driver's window began to roll down, Emmie steeled herself for a chastising from the senior officers. But when the window was about halfway down, Emmie realized that the blond driving was _too_ blond…

"You…" she whispered. She reached back for her gun as Nicole raised her hand. Emmie didn't even have time to register what Nicole was holding. She shrieked as her eyes felt like they had suddenly erupted in flames. She rubbed at her face with one hand while still grabbing at her gun. She finally got it out and pointed it blindly as Nicole stepped down from the SUV.

"Now Emmie," Nicole said, attempting a soothing tone. "We don't need that. We don't want anyone to get hurt. Least of all Rick."

"Where is he?" Emmie yelled at the blurred figure in front of her.

"Put the gun down and I'll tell you."

"Not happening," Emmie said thickly, between coughs and gasps. She recognized the side effects immediately, of mace. "Where is—" She was interrupted as she burst into a coughing fit.

Nicole lunged. Emmie stumbled. They both went down on the center line of Pearl Street, Nicole on top. She went straight for the gun. Emmie threw it back toward her car. Nicole jumped up to go after it, but Emmie rolled onto her side and wrapped her arms around Nicole's ankles, bringing her back down. But Nicole reacted, jumping back toward Emmie, who was still being affected by the mace. Emmie saw the fuzzy shape of Nicole coming back to her, and jumped to her knees and threw her shoulder into Nicole, knocking her back, and now jumping on top of her. Emmie flung her fist in a random direction and felt it make contact with Nicole's nose. Right before she felt a sharp prick in her side, and everything got a little fuzzier before going completely black.

* * *

A set of headlights approached the little gray Beetle, parked on the side of the street. The SUV cut across and came to stop, bumper to bumper with the Volkswagen.

"Damn it," Goren growled, jumping out before Eames put it in park.

The car was obviously empty, but he went to the driver's side and looked anyway.

Eames had hopped out and was on the passenger side, looking around. With a sigh, she bent down and stood back up, holding the Glock so Goren could see. Frustrated, he looked out at the empty street. She was with Nicole, unarmed… No signs of a stru—Scratch that. Something was glinting in the light in the middle of the street. He walked over to it, pulling a glove from his pocket. He squatted next to it and picked it up.

"Tell me you've found a unique chunk of dirt that is indigenous to a close-by, _small_ area," Eames said walking over. She looked over his shoulder at the empty syringe.

"Great," she muttered. "So now we've got two missing cops, and if she's got them both drugged up, they can't do anything to help themselves."

Goren rose to his full height as he slowly turned to face the car. "Do you think she held on to Delgado?"

Eames followed his gaze to the back hatch of the Beetle.

Goren moved to the rear of the car while Eames went to the driver's door. It was unlocked. She reached down for the trunk release.

Goren lifted the back hatch open and stared down at the unconscious form of Enrique Delgado.

_What'd ya think? Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The stretcher was pushed into room 310 and locked in place next to the window.

"You can have five minutes," the nurse told the detectives. "He'll probably be out before that though."

Goren and Eames both nodded understanding and entered the room. Enrique Delgado looked at them through half-closed eyes.

"I remember you guys." He spoke barely above a whisper.

"Do you remember what happened, Rick?" Eames got right to the point. If he was on the brink of passing out due to exhaustion and pain meds, they didn't have time to waste, especially when the life of another officer hung in the balance.

He closed his eyes fully and slowly shook his head. "You mean besides pain, right?" He softly chuckled at his own dark joke. "No. I was at Emmie's, she got called to go see you guys." He coughed lightly. "I hung around for a while and then left for work." He opened his eyes to look at the detectives. "That's it. Maybe a few hours later I woke up, it was dark, I couldn't see anything, then I was out again. Until I woke up here."

"When you woke up, when it was dark," Goren said, "did you hear anything? Smell anything?"

Rick thought about it for a moment. "A woman… She was talking to someone, but… I couldn't make it out. She was muffled, like in another room, maybe? She sounded British." He thought some more. "That's it, I don't remember anything else."

Eames looked up at Goren, who shook his head slightly, and then back to Rick. "Okay Rick, thanks."

They turned to go, but Rick stopped them.

"Where's Emmie?"

Eames hesitated. She didn't want to give the poor kid the bad news about his girlfriend in his current state. "We're trying to figure that out."

Lucky for her, he passed out before she finished the sentence.

* * *

**1 Police Plaza**

**Friday, April 6, 2007**

**1:05am**

"Okay people," Ross spoke to the squad room, loud enough for the team gathered around him to hear clearly. "We lost time with Delgado. What have we turned up on the cabin upstate?"

"It's in the town of Cottons," Detective Matthews called out. "About a four hour drive from here. The local PD has been notified, but their force of six is preoccupied with a multi-car pileup right now, and, I quote, 'don't have time for wild goose chases, until there's something more concrete.'"

"Did you explain that this is a fellow cop?" Ross asked in disbelief.

"Several times," Matthews confirmed.

"All right," Ross said. "There's a chance Wallace hasn't left the city, so we've got patrol on the look out, and tightened security at the bridges and tunnels. Every cop posted at every exit has her photo. Meanwhile, a small task force will head to Cottons via helicopter. That should shave some travel time off as opposed to driving. Questions?" After no response, he ordered, "Get going."

Everyone went off to their various tasks, Ross back into his office to the phone.

Eames looked at Goren. "If she is headed to the cabin, she's got a three hour lead on us."

Goren nodded solemnly. "The helicopter will be faster than a car," he echoed Ross' words.

In his office, Ross hung up the phone and stepped out.

"Task force going to the cabin, the copter is five minutes out. Get up to the roof."

* * *

The first thing Emmie realized was that she had a hell of a headache. _Damn_, she thought, _that must have been some night. Catch a murderer, go out for some drinks, and you sure do pay for it the next day._

As much as she didn't want to, she forced her eyes open. All she saw was black. She tried again. They were open. They wouldn't open any further. It truly was that dark.

"What the fu—"

She reached over to her bedside lamp, but her arm was stuck.

_Great, not only am I hung over, my arm is asleep._

She tried the other one. That one wouldn't move either. Then she slowly started to become aware that her arms weren't asleep, but they were very much awake and attached to something. She pulled some more.

_Handcuffs?_ She felt around as much as she could. Metal piping, the dragging of metal on metal, a wall. She was in a sitting position, with her legs tucked under her. She dragged them from under her and tried to stand, but they were stuck together.

Suddenly the events of the past two days came rushing back to her. Right up to her meeting with Nicole Wallace under the Brooklyn Bridge.

"_Shit_."

Emmie frantically began pulling against the restraints, but all she managed to do was make a lot of noise and make her wrists extremely sore.

"Stop that now, you'll scratch up the radiator."

The voice startled Emmie enough for her to freeze. She still couldn't see anything. And then a bright white light flared in front of her. She couldn't see anything around it.

"Of course, it's not mine," Nicole continued. "But still…"

"Why are you doing this?" Emmie asked.

"You started it, sister," Nicole answered. "I didn't go looking for you, you came looking for me."

Emmie stayed quiet. _Just let her ramble,_ she told herself. _The more she talks, the bigger the chance help will get here._ She deliberately stayed away from the thought that no one knew where she was. _She_ didn't even know where she was.

"Spying on the NYPD databases was just a stupid little thing to keep myself informed of the enemy's activities," Nicole continued. "I was beginning to get disappointed. No one had looked at my file in months. But then one day I took a peek… and I saw a new ID looking up my file. Now, who could this be? User number 4013? So I looked you up, Emily. Naïve little rookie, just out of the academy. Orphaned at such a young age, and yet managed to make a life for yourself."

The light seemed like it was beginning to dim. Or maybe her eyes were becoming accustomed to it. Emmie could vaguely make out the shape of a person beyond. She figured it must be some high-powered flashlight being shone in her face in the pitch-black room.

"So is that what this is?" Emmie spat. She couldn't help herself. "You're jealous that we both came from tragic backgrounds, and I came out on top, and you… Well you didn't amount to anything more than a common criminal, always pretending to be someone else so the past doesn't catch up with you?"

Emmie heard a soft grunt of laughter. Then the light was suddenly illuminating everything but her face, and a force slammed into the side of her mouth, knocking her sideways. Stars burst in front of her eyes, and she shook her head to keep herself conscious. Warm, coppery fluid filled her mouth and she spit blood to the floor.

"No, that's not why," Nicole continued calmly, the light now back in Emmie's face. "Because I wanted to head off your little… _investigation_ before it gained too much momentum. I wanted to tell you in person."

"So tell me," Emmie said thickly. "I'm all ears, _Nikki_."

"You've obviously already put together that we have the same father," Nicole said. "I remember when I first found out. Someone else had daddy's attention. And not just a little attention. He'd gone and had another daughter. He'd loved another woman more than he'd loved me. He'd actually had a child with someone else. Well, I just couldn't have that."

Emmie was frozen again, hanging on to every word. It couldn't be true. Impossible.

"You're lying," she said softly, her voice hitching in her throat.

"Am I?" Nicole asked, just as softly.

"My mother killed herself," Emmie said. She was trying to convince herself. "You didn't travel from Australia to Brooklyn just to kill a woman you'd never met."

"I didn't go to Brooklyn," Nicole corrected. "You were in Pennsylvania. You weren't home that night. You were on a school trip to Hershey. Must have been nice, that bliss right before your life came crashing down."

Emmie felt several emotions, the greatest of which being rage. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to betray what she was feeling. That's what Nicole wanted. A reaction.

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble to tell me that," Emmie said, striving for nonchalance. "A phone call would have sufficed." She spit out another half-mouthful of blood. She could feel the opened lip. _Great,_ she thought, _I'm gonna need stitches. Assuming I get out of here __not__ in a body bag. No! Stop thinking like that Emmie. You're going to get out of here alive. Nicole might not. But you will!_

"You think—" Nicole stopped short, her last thought dying on her lips. Emmie heard it too. A car pulling up on gravel. There was scuffling as Nicole stood up, and Emmie realized she'd been sitting on the floor with her. The light traveled to the opposite side of the room and Emmie could just make out Nicole pulling a curtain aside and looking out of a window before she hurried out of the room.

Emmie immediately began pulling on the radiator pipe connected to the wall. She had been plunged into darkness again, but she didn't need to see. She could hear the pipe groaning in it's resolve to stay in one piece. Another tug. And another. Then one great heave, and it finally gave in to Emmie's strength and she fell backward by her own momentum as she heard a door somewhere else in the house crash down and the door to this room slammed shut.

Emmie leaned against the wall and used her cuffed hands to pull herself up to her duck-taped feet. A light clicked on, the same light as before, and she heard the unmistakable cocking of a gun.

"It's too bad, really," Nicole said.

"Yeah, it is," Emmie agreed. Right before she blindly flung herself toward the light.

* * *

_AN: So I'm coming to the end. I was just gonna leave it, but I think I can wrap it up in another two or three chapters. The only thing I'm not sure of is if I should continue it into a sequal or just leave well enough alone. Eh, we'll see how it ends._


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Ouch, no reviews on the last two chapters! Ah well. Hopefully this one is a little better. I think one more after this and it will all be over. :)**

Chapter 11

Squad cars from the local force quietly crawled up the gravel path that doubled as a driveway to the seemingly deserted cabin.

Goren's hope of finding them here sunk as he saw the cabin, nestled in a quarter of a mile from the road, was completely dark.

The officers exited the three cars and slowly approached the front door, guns drawn. Then he saw it. A flutter of movement from the window next to the door. A blackout curtain. He wasn't the only one to see it. The team scrambled to the front door, while a second team went to the rear of the cabin. A local officer kicked in the door, and they flooded in. Goren motioned two officers to the right, he and Eames went left.

The cabin was dimly lit and sparsely furnished. They followed a short hallway to a door at the end.

_BAM!_

"Shots fired!" Eames yelled.

Goren kicked in the door.

Emmie lay on the floor on her side, her back to the detectives. Nicole stood over her, but swung the gun up to face Goren and Eames.

Goren barely blinked as he squeezed the trigger. Nicole stumbled backward and dropped the gun before she fell over, clutching at her abdomen.

"Officer down!" Goren called, "Get a bus!" He dropped down to Emmie and saw she was bleeding from her right shoulder.

Eames ran to Wallace, kicking the gun further away from her.

"Two buses," Eames yelled out, as officers poured into the small room. Someone flipped the light switch and an overhead lamp lit up the unfurnished room. "Suspect down," Eames added.

Emmie looked up at Goren, who unlocked the handcuffs and helped Emmie put pressure on her shoulder.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

She nodded. "If someone can un-duct-tape my feet," she said.

One of the officers crouched down with a pocket knife and obliged as Ross made his way into the room and took in the scene.

"Ok people, let's set up the crime scene, and someone get to the road to flag in EMS," he said.

Officers scattered to their duties, as two stayed with Wallace.

"Captain, we're going to transport Handsen," Goren said, helping the girl to her feet.

Ross nodded and Eames and Goren helped Emmie to one of the squad cars, racing off to the hospital.

* * *

Emmie lay in a bed in Trauma 1, becoming more than irritated at the gaggle of doctors around her, prepping her for surgery.

"Really, it's just a flesh wound," she insisted groggily.

"We have to get the bullet out," one doctor insisted for the eighth time. "We can't stitch you up with it still in there. Just relax, we'll get you to the OR in a few minutes."

A bang, and the ER doors flew open as EMS ran in with another stretcher, one medic on top of the victim performing chest compressions.

"GSW, upper torso," he called out as his partner pushed the stretcher into Trauma 2, followed by several local police officers.

The doctor groaned and turned to run over to the new commotion. "It must be a full moon."

Emmie's vision blurred, refocused, and blurred again. She looked down at the IV in her hand, pumping pain meds into her bloodstream.

_That is some good shit,_ she thought to herself.

**

* * *

**

**Cottons-Madison General Hospital**

**Friday, April 6, 2007**

**6:44am**

The small waiting area seemed even smaller than it had before they'd fallen asleep, if it were possible. Ross had been called back to the city about three hours previously and took most of the task force with him, insisting on hourly updates from Goren and Eames before he left, which they both promised. Upon his departure, they headed for the small, private waiting room usually reserved for families and promptly fell asleep.

The local force had secured the crime scene and taken Goren's statement, but he'd have to give it again to IA once they returned to New York. The locals also placed two officers to guard Nicole, who was in surgery in the room next to Emmie.

At first Eames wasn't sure what had woken her, but then she saw the doctor standing in front of her. She sat up straight, more than a little embarrassed to notice that he'd walked in on her using her partner's shoulder as a pillow. She less than gently nudge Goren awake, who snorted mid-snore and opened his eyes.

"Detectives," the doctor greeted them. "Emily Handsen is out of surgery. She's just waking up if you want to see her. She's doing fine, but we're going to keep her here for a few days to monitor and make sure she doesn't develop any infections."

"And Wallace?" Goren asked hoarsely.

"Still in surgery," the doctor answered. "Her wound is substantially more severe. I'll keep you updated."

"You want to talk to Emmie?" Eames asked once the doctor had left.

Goren sighed and considered. "Once things… come to light… I might be asked to step off this case," he said. "We'll both go, see if she's ready to make a statement. Then I'll talk to her."

Eames nodded.

* * *

Emmie picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Her shoulder was throbbing, but the pain meds took care of most of the pain. The downside was that even though she'd just woken up from an almost four hour, anesthetically induced nap, not long after the several hour nap before that, she felt like she was ready for another one.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:10. She sighed. _What is on at 7am?_ She started flipping through the channels.

News.

News.

Paid programming.

News.

With a frustrated sigh, she dropped the remote and left it on the local news.

"…_Some excitement for local law enforcement early this morning as a raid on a cabin on County Road 16 ended with two people shot,"_ the anchorwoman announced. Emmie looked at the screen and saw an overhead shot of herself and Goren and Eames making their way to a squad car. _"The raid was conducted with officers from the NYPD, and as you can see here from our news chopper—"_

Emmie, horrified, grabbed for the remote and pressed the power button. The screen flickered, but came back on as the story continued. She pressed the button again, and the images stayed one the screen. Frustrated, she pressed repeatedly on the button.

"Here," a voice said. Emmie turned her head to see Goren and Eames step into her room, and Goren reached up and pressed the power button on the TV, which finally turned off.

"Thank you," Emmie sighed, relieved.

"How are you feeling?" Eames asked gently.

Emmie groaned loudly. "Does that answer your question?" She smirked. "They've got some good meds here, though. I might not go back to New York."

Her attempt at a joke fell flat, and her smirk faded.

"I'm kidding," she said. "I'll probably end up back in New York."

"I know you're just out of surgery," Eames said. "But do you feel like going over what happened?"

Emmie drew in a breath and let it out slowly, moistened her lips, feeling the stitches along her bottom one. "I guess now's as good a time as any, right?" She forced a smile, then let it drop. "I don't remember a whole lot," she said honestly. "I was sitting in my car, an SUV pulled up, I thought it was yours. Obviously it wasn't. There was a fight, she stuck me with something. I woke up in her little cabin." Emmie held up one of her heavily bandaged wrists. "She had me handcuffed to the radiator." She lowered her eyes, suddenly finding the plain white sheet covering her more interesting than her visitors. "She tried to mess with my head, she said she had killed my mother, out of…" She shrugged. "Jealousy, I guess. That Brady had fathered me, but wouldn't have kids with her." She raised her eyes. "How fucking _sick_ is she?"

Goren nodded. "Nicole was sexually abused as a child," he explained.

"Oh." Emmie looked down at her hands. "That explains a lot."

Eames let it marinate for a moment before continuing. "What happened when we came in?"

"We heard the cars pull up," Emmie continued. "She left the room, and I managed to break the pipe I was cuffed to, but she came back with a gun. I rushed her, we struggled, the gun went off, you guys came in."

She looked at Eames. "That's really all I can remember, and even a lot of that is kind of fuzzy."

Eames nodded. "Thanks Emmie." She offered a supportive smile.

"Oh," Emmie said, grabbing Eames attention back. "What happened to Nicole? I mean, I know—" She looked at Goren, "You shot her, but… I mean, did she survive?"

"She's still in surgery," Goren answered.

Emmie nodded, and pretended not to notice Eames quietly slipping toward the door.

"And Rick?" she asked, glancing at the now closing door.

"We found him," Goren told her. "He's going to be fine, just a few bruises. He's at Bellevue."

Emmie nodded again, looking to her hands, then to the door, and finally back to Goren. "Your partner sucks at sneaking out of rooms," she said blatantly.

Goren looked to the door, then to Emmie. "Yeah." He ran a hand through his hair, down to the back of his neck, looking around the room. His eyes fell on a chair, and he pulled it over next to Emmie and sat.

Emmie was bewildered. "Okay, have a seat, detective," she said, not bothering to even try to keep the confusion out of her voice.

"Um, call me Bobby, please," Goren said. "I actually… What I want to talk about is more like a… _non_-business type of conversation."

Emmie stiffened. "O-Okay," she said slowly. She thought she had an idea of where this was going, and she fully intended to head it off at the start. Now it made sense that Eames had tried to not so successfully leave the room discreetly. "Bobby. Um. . .I thought that you had realized. . .I actually have a boyfriend, but even if I didn't, I don't think it would be entirely appropriate to. . .I mean, you _are_ older—" she immediately held out her non-IV hand in an 'I'm-sorry-I-didn't-mean-it-like-that' gesture "—I'm not saying you're _old_. . . But I'm _young_ and— well, I'm young_er_, and—"

Finally realizing what was going on in her mind, Bobby held up his hands. "No, no, Emmie," he cut her off. "It's not _that_ kind of a. . .non-business conversation."

"Oh thank God," Emmie sighed, relieved. "So what's up then?"

Goren took a breath. "Okay," he started. "This might sound a little…" He moved his head around, trying to come up with the right word. "…_weird_," he hesitantly decided on, "but just bear with me."

Emmie nodded patiently, waiting for him to go on.

Goren opened his mouth to go on. But he was stuck. He'd gone over and over it in his head, different ways of approaching the subject, but now that she was giving him the opportunity, he couldn't start.

Emmie smiled nervously. "Well I know you're not about to tell me my dog died," she said. "I don't have a dog. But if I did have a dog, I would think that you were about to tell me he died." He looked up at her and she reconsidered. "No, scratch that," she added. "Not my dog. My puppy. My very cute, very innocent puppy. What could you possibly have to tell me that you don't want to?"

Goren allowed himself a smile at her attempt to lighten the dark mood enveloping the room. "Well, it's not… I mean, not that I _don't_… it's just…"

Emmie raised her eyebrows. "Are you familiar with the Band-Aid method?" She could feel the pain meds finally taking over, and nearly overwhelming drowsiness setting in. "And it would be best to get it over with if you don't want to tell me twice, because I think I'm about pass out."

Goren nodded. "Okay. Mark Ford Brady—"

"Ugh, that asshole," Emmie muttered, closing her eyes and rolling her head to face the ceiling. "Sorry, continue," she said, not re-opening her eyes.

Goren could tell she was indeed on the brink of drug-induced sleep. "How sure are you that he's your father?"

Emmie took a deep breath. "I never had a paternity test, but my mother wasn't exactly a whore. And she did ask him for financial support, I can't imagine she wouldn't have done that unless she was sure."

Bobby nodded. "Brady, he. . . He had a lot of victims."

Emmie's turn to nod, slightly. "I know. I read the file, remember?"

"So you know how he kept track of them all."

"Yeah, with the photo albums."

"Right." Bobby took deep breath, looked at the floor, then looked back at Emmie. "We found a photo of your mother in one of the albums."

Emmie nodded, not fazed. "I figured," she said. Her eyebrows crinkled and she opened her eyes to look at Goren. "Where are you going with this?"

"Between his last appeal and his execution, we were working a case involving him," Bobby explained. "During the course of that investigation, as you know, we found the photo albums. In one of the older albums. . .was a photo of my. . .my mother."

Emmie stared at Bobby with her mouth slightly agape. "Um. . ." What was she supposed to say to that? "I'm. . .sorry," she settled for.

He didn't think she was getting it. "Just before she died. . .I-I asked her about it." He was paying more attention to his shoes than to Emmie, but was managing an occasion glance at her. "She didn't give me a straight answer, but there's a strong possibility that. . ."

Realization dawned. "Well how do. . ." She gasped. "You're saying. . ." Bobby looked up and nodded. "But then that means. . ." Bobby nodded again. "I'm sorry," Emmie said. "It would be nice if I finished a sentence."

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in getting a DNA test," Bobby said. "At the very least it could answer questions for both of us."

"What if it says we have the same father?"

Bobby shook his head slightly. "Then. . .I have a sister."

Emmie smiled a small smile, and turned her face back to the ceiling. "Cool," she whispered, before the drugs overpowered her tired mind and she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_AN: Yeah, so... I think the next chapter's the last one. I'm trying to wrap up and explain everything. What'd you think of Chapter 11? Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!_


	12. Chapter 12

**_AN: So here it is. The last chapter. Are Goren, Nicole, and Emmie all one big, dysfunctional family, or was there just a big misunderstanding? Thank you for the great reviews! They motivated me to get this up a little bit faster. I actually had written three endings, but this was the one I decided on. I hope you all like it!_**

**June 15, 2007**

**2:58pm**

"Any more nightmares?" Dr Elizabeth Olivet asked, looking up for her notebook to the nervous young woman chewing her thumbnail seated on the couch across from her.

Emmie started to shake her head in the negative, but stopped halfway through. "Not as often as before," she said, after a beat. She lowered her hand and looked Olivet in the eyes. "They've really cut back. Um, I've been going out again, too, with friends from work."

"When did that start?" Olivet asked, interested. She wrote on her pad: _Socializing returning to normal, nightmares subsiding_.

"Saturday," Emmie answered. "And last night. Not the same place we used to go, obviously. But we do karaoke and I have fun."

Olivet nodded. "And how is work?"

At this Emmie rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I hate being at a desk, all day, every day. I can't wait to get back out into the street."

"Well it may be sooner than you think," Olivet admitted. "I'm seeing some great improvement, Emily. I don't see any reason to keep you on desk duty for much longer."

Emmie couldn't suppress a grin. "Really? How soon?"

"Maybe next week," Olivet said. "If you feel you're ready."

"Of course I'm ready!" Emmie couldn't contain her excitement. "Almost two months inside, I think that might have more of a damaging psychological impact on me that being stalked, kidnapped, held prisoner and shot. And my doctor signed off on the medical paperwork," she went on, "so medically I'm good to go."

Olivet nodded in agreement. "Our hour is about up," she said. "I'll let you know on Tuesday when you can go back to work full duty. Now, you understand that I still expect you to come in twice a week."

Emmie nodded. "Hey, if it means I can do my job again, I'll stand on my head till my face turns blue."

* * *

"I can see him going for you," Goren said. "Get him to make a move, and we establish that he has no aversion in cheating on the wife."

Eames nodded along, not thrilled with the idea of dangling herself in front of a possible murderer as bait, yet _again_, but it did seem the logical way to establish motive. If Roberts was involved in an affair and needed a way out of the marriage, murder would be the most effective way, not to mention the insurance payout.

"Detectives," Ross curtly greeted the two as he stepped up to their desks. "Nicole Wallace woke up from her coma. She's at Bellevue, in the prison ward. Go… chat her up."

Eames watched the Captain walk away toward his office as she gathered up papers. "We don't know for sure that there _was_ an affair," Eames said quietly to her partner. "How do you know he'll go for me? We don't know his type."

Goren shrugged one shoulder as he stood. "Who _wouldn't_ go for you, Eames?"

He was halfway to the elevators before he realized Eames wasn't with him. He turned and saw her standing at her desk, staring at him with eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape.

Goren held back a chuckle and made his way back to Eames, stopping inches in front of her. "I saw him checking you out when you left the room to take a call during the first interview," he told her quietly.

* * *

Emmie stepped from the front stoop of Dr. Olivet's office and onto the street, unconsciously pulling her sleeves down to her knuckles. She breathed in the fresh, late-spring air and turned to walk to the corner where her car was parked. As she approached the Beetle, she fumbled with her keys, finding the remote to unlock the door. Once inside, she buckled her seatbelt and took a deep breath before putting the key into the ignition.

Then, it hit her.

The surrounding Manhattan street was gone. She was in a fight for her life in the middle of the road, grappling with a blond psychotic, but she was almost winning, until her assailant pulled out a hypodermic needle and shoved it deep into Emmie's side.

Emmie gasped and opened her eyes. She hadn't realized how hard she'd been gripping the steering wheel; her knuckles were white.

She breathed deeply again and blew the air out slowly, shaking her head.

"Get it together, Emmie," she muttered to herself, putting the car in drive.

As she eased out into traffic, she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket and pulled it out, flipping it open without looking at the ID.

"Yeah," she answered.

"Nicole Wallace is awake," an unfamiliar voice said.

Emmie's voice died in her throat. Suddenly the car in front of her was quickly approaching, and she slammed on the brakes.

"Who is this?" she finally managed to whisper.

"Bellevue," the voice said. "Prison ward."

The line went dead. Emmie looked at the display; it was a private number.

"Great," she muttered. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and looked up at the red light three cars ahead of her, anxiously tapping the steering wheel.

"I'm not going," she said aloud. "Nope. Don't need to, don't want to."

But, it was only three o'clock, technically her day didn't end until four. So she couldn't go home yet. But there wasn't enough time to go all the way back to work.

"Oh fuck it," Emmie said. She pulled to the right and squeezed in between the line of traffic and the parked cars lining the street, making a left around traffic and running the red light, ignoring the blaring of multiple horns. A few minutes later she was on the FDR, heading up to Bellevue.

**

* * *

**

**Bellevue Hospital Prison Ward**

**3:41pm**

"Ah, detectives," Nicole rasped, managing a sly grin. "Fancy running into you two here."

"Cut the crap, Nicole," Goren said harshly.

"Oh Bobby," she said, mock disappointment hanging on the words. "Where are the manners your poor mother instilled in you? I know she brought you up better than that."

"Reserved for someone who deserves them," Goren retorted.

Eames stayed at her partner's side, but remained quiet for the moment. Goren had always been the one able to get information from Nicole, and this was personal. Still, if his theory was right, he'd be pulled off the case faster than he could say 'paternity.' She was ready to jump in any moment.

"You confessed to the murder of Patricia Handsen," Goren continued.

"Funny, I don't remember that," Nicole said. "Name doesn't ring a bell."

"Emily Handsen's mother," Goren said.

"And who have I allegedly made this confession to? Officer Handsen? Don't you think she's a little too personally involved to be taking confessions?" Nicole's demeanor, at first cocky and lighthearted, was becoming darker.

"She's a witness," Goren said. "A… credible one."

"Whatever you say, _detective_," Nicole said. "I've nothing more to say without my lawyer."

"You're actually taking this to trial." Eames couldn't hold back anymore. It wasn't a question, more of a statement of disbelief.

"My right," Nicole said, and closed her eyes, ending the conversation.

Eames looked at Goren, shaking her head as they walked out of the guarded room.

"She can't possibly think she's going to win another trial," Eames said, once the door was closed. "I don't care how good her lawyer is, we have testimony from eyewitnesses, physical evidence, she was holding the gun, for God's sake!"

"Yeah, but a lawyer can delay things," Goren said. "If she's ROR, she might take care of any witnesses—Emmie."

"Wh-?" But as Eames watched Goren walked around her, she saw why he'd suddenly said Emmie's name. The young cop was storming down the hall, and did not look happy to see the two of them there.

"Where is she?" she asked, a little more forcefully than necessary.

Goren stopped in front of her, holding up his hands. Emmie sidestepped to go around, but Goren dodged to his left and blocked her again.

"I just want to talk to her," Emmie said.

"I want to talk to you first," he said. He looked at his watch. "Did you drive here?"

"What?" Emmie was thrown for a moment by the change of subject. "Well, yeah, but—"

Goren turned to Eames. "Our day's over, I'm gonna get a ride with Emmie."

Eames nodded. "Okay. I'll see you Monday."

"I'll call you later," Goren said over his shoulder, as he walked down the hallway, pulling Emmie with him.

"Who says I'm giving you a ride?" Emmie asked irritably. "I came here to talk to her, and I'm going to talk to her!"

"No you're not, not right now," Goren said as they passed through the main doors, out to the street. He held his hand out. "Give me your keys."

Emmie stared back for a moment before giving in to laughter. "Oh no, I've seen you drive, Goren."

"I told you, call me Bobby, and you're not driving, you're too upset."

Emmie's eyes narrowed. "I'm _not_ upset," she said. She pulled her keys out, walked quickly to her car and got in, Goren close behind.

"And besides," Emmie said a few moments later, as though there had been no lapse in conversation, "I don't want you moving my seat around. I have it just the way I like it, and it's a pain in the ass to get it back after you fiddle around with it."

Goren watched her play with her keys another moment before speaking. "Look, Nicole—"

"I just want to talk to her," Emmie interrupted quietly, not looking up from her keys. "She says she killed my mom, I think I have a right to talk to her."

"She's denying it," Goren said. Emmie looked up. "She's taking this to trial."

"No way," Emmie said. "She can't _possibly_ think she's got—"

"It won't matter, if her lawyer can tie things up long enough for her to flee."

Emmie nodded, clenching her jaw, and looked back down to her keys.

"How's Rick?" Goren asked.

Emmie shrugged one shoulder. ""Um. . .Okay. He's dealing. He's going to therapy twice a week also, and last I heard he should be back at work in two more weeks. No permanent damage, thank God."

"I'm surprised he didn't come with you."

"Ah." Emmie smiled, looking up. "That's because he's staying with his… _mother_."

"You don't get along." It wasn't a question. He didn't need to ask. Her tone said it all.

Emmie shrugged. "At least she used to pretend she liked me, as transparent as _that_ was. But she blames me for what happened." She looked back at her keys, which were suddenly interesting again. "I can't say that she's completely wrong, either."

"Emmie," Goren said softly, "What happened—"

"Yeah, I know, it's not my fault, blah blah blah." She looked up. "Sorry, I had to cut you off. If I hear that sentence again, I'm going to punch the person saying it. You're like. . .four times my size, so punching you probably isn't a bright idea. Anyway, it wasn't going anywhere, we were bound to split soon."

A moment of silence, punctuated by an aggressive cab driver blaring his horn and cursing at another driver.

"So…" Emmie began hesitantly. "Your Captain came to my precinct today."

"Wh—Ross?"

"Yeah," Emmie said, seemingly bewildered. "He said that when I come back, there's a spot at Major Case, if I want it."

Goren gaped. He couldn't help it. Sure Emmie was a good cop, a good person, but she was young. She'd been on the job less than a year. Major Case was an elite unit, after all.

"I mean," she continued, seeing his face, "it's probably just something like getting coffee for all you big shot detectives but…"

"But…" Goren pressed.

Emmie shrugged. "I accepted it," she said. She turned back to Goren. "I mean, I'd be crazy not to, right? And I just found out today that I'm not crazy. If I were, I wouldn't be going back to full duty next week, right?"

"Emmie, that's great that they're putting you back, but—"

"It's not like I'm going to have my own caseload," she said. "I know that. But it's an in. How many rookies get that chance?"

Silence blanketed the car again.

Emmie huffed a chuckle for seemingly no reason. "I just had a thought… If the DNA comes back and me and Nicole _are_ half-sisters, does that make this a domestic violence case?"

Goren smiled a small smile, slightly shaking his head.

"I uh… I actually was just asking myself… when would be a good time to bring this up," he said, opening his binder and pulling a letter out. He looked at it, as though he wasn't sure what it was, then handed it to Emmie.

"The tests are back?" she asked, taking it. Goren nodded. Emmie read, holding her breath. She came to the end and blew the air out of her lungs. "Thank God," she said, handing the letter back. "Does she know she's not part of the Brady Bunch?"

Goren smirked, putting the letter back into his binder. "Ah, no, I didn't tell her that she's not part of the, uh… the Brady Bunch."

"Like she's not screwed up enough already," Emmie said, turning the ignition and putting the car in drive. "That news might _really_ mess up that bottle-blond head of hers."

"Where are we going?" Goren asked as Emmie turn toward the highway. "My apartment's the other way."

"I know," Emmie said, turning onto the FDR toward downtown. "I feel like Italian tonight. And you're buying, big bro."

* * *

**_AN: Ok, so that's the end. Thank you to everybody who read along and left me reviews. I really appreciate it. Also, if anyone's interested, and because I have no life and the idea of a possible sequal is very appealing to me and something I've been thinking about since like chapter 5, Emmie went and started her own blog. Yeah, she's a trendy kid. check it out at ehandsen . blogspot . com._**


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